Waltz with Me, John
by Viv24
Summary: When John is dragged into one of Sherlock's latest experiments, he never would have guessed it would be dancing, especially the waltz. What happens when the detective tries to teach the blogger how to dance? (Johnlock fic, of course)


**I don't own any of the characters, not even pocket size ones. Sigh. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. I don't own the "Tennessee Waltz" either. That belongs to Patti Page, Redd Stewart, Pee Wee King, or whoever owns that now.**

**A/N:** Hey all, I'm not sure how many dancing fics there are of Sherlock and John, but I assume there are quite some. I haven't read any yet and I was struck one day to write this, so hopefully, it does not appear to resemble another fic too much. I actually had to look up "how to waltz" on YouTube to write this for I have never waltz before. Haha. Also, this was unbeta'd, so you might find American usage of words instead, although I tried using British words, which I hope do not sound awkward in the sentence. Anyway, enjoy and please leave a feedback, be it a compliment, a constructive criticism, a question, or simply a comment. Thanks!

**This is a Johnlock fic in case you didn't get the hint.**

* * *

"Sherlock, where are we going?" John groaned for the third time. He had been sitting in his snug chair, about to pick up the morning newspaper, when the detective decided to grab him by the hand and drag him downstairs, where a black cab was waiting. Ten minutes later, they appeared outside a large building with tinted window panes and a glassy entrance. Sherlock was silent the entire time, absorbed in his own thoughts. He strode ahead and through the door, not even bothering to look back or wait for the blogger. John sighed and closed his eyes. He counted to ten before entering the building, not feeling any less frustrated than before.

The inside was very angular and quiet. On the white walls hung several images of extremely thin ballerinas with flowing white outfits and salsa dancers intertwined with their partners in an alluring manner. Feeling rather confused, John walked forward and turned right into the only room with an opened door. There, he found himself standing in a great expanse with smooth, wooden flooring, giant mirrors on one wall, and a horizontal bar running across it. Right in the middle stood Sherlock, who had taken off his coat and now donned a black tuxedo and bow tie, which complimented his cream-white skin and dress shirt beneath it. His dark trousers were quite fitting, but loose enough to move comfortably in them. On the floor beside him, there was a gray remote control.

"Yours are hanging on the bar. The men's room is across from here. I say ten minutes should be more than enough," Sherlock spoke for the first time since abducting John.

"What? Wait, why?" John asked, feeling even more bewildered than before.

"Later. Now get dressed," Sherlock waved him off and turned his back to him. John pursed his lips for a moment, then marched to the garment bag and grabbed it roughly before heading to the changing room.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me," he murmured as he stared at the silky black waistcoat, midnight blue tie, and white dress shirt. He looked at the label of the trousers, which signed itself as _Deirdre of London_. John whistled quietly. _A little posh, are we?_ he thought as he put it on.

John stepped into the dance room, feeling a little awkward in his formal wear and sauntered towards Sherlock. The detective's lips slightly twitched into a grin as he scanned the blogger's body up and down. John scowled.

"So will you tell me now what this is for?" he said exasperatedly once he was about a couple of feet in front of Sherlock.

"Oh you know, an experiment for a murder case," he replied simply.

"What? Was the victim forced to dance to their death?" John said sarcastically.

"Something like that." Before the blogger could utter another word, Sherlock grabbed his back with one hand and his hand with another, pulling him closer to his body swiftly. Instinctively, John raised his left hand and rested it on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Waltz with me, John," Sherlock said.

"But... I-I don't know how to," John stuttered, still stunned by the sudden invasion of his personal space.

"Then I'll show you how," Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it was the most dim-witted remark he had ever heard, "Take a right step back." Almost immediately, Sherlock's leg crashed into John's shin and the blogger stumbled with pain, only to be supported by the detective's grip.

"My right, you berk," Sherlock sighed and John glared upwards, his back still bended as he recovered from the blow. His right hand gripped angrily tight on Sherlock's as he pulled himself together and grinned internally when he saw Sherlock wincing slightly from the pain. John stepped back with his left leg just in time as Sherlock's right took his place.

"One. Now take a step to the left," Sherlock said and they simultaneously moved, "Two. Now a step towards that leg." The duo stepped with ease.

"Three. That's the count to the waltz. The next three counts are the same steps, but reversed. Take a left step back, then to the right, and finally, bring the other leg towards the one that just moved," Sherlock said and they proceeded smoothly, more or less. "This is called the box step, obviously. Remember that for the first count, step with your heel first and a slight dip. As for the next two counts, step on the balls of your feet."

They repeated several times while Sherlock counted, "One, two, three. Two, two, three. Three, two..."

"That wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" Sherlock smirked once they had managed to dance in sync, "Shall we try for real this time?"

He took a few steps and picked up the remote control. Soon after, John heard an instrumental intro as Sherlock gracefully walked back and took John in his arms once more.

_**I was dancing with my darlin' to the Tennessee Waltz**_

"The Tennessee Waltz," John mused as they danced, "It was my favorite piece when I was a boy."

_**When an old friend I happened to see**_

Sherlock spun John around and closed his warm hand around the blogger's once more.

_**Introduced her to my loved one and while they were dancing**_

_**My friend stole my sweetheart from me**_

"So when did you learned to waltz?" John asked as he gazed into Sherlock's blue-green eyes.

"When I was about five. My family... they were wealthy people who were keen on keeping a clean record and formidable reputation. Thus, I was forced to learn, but I guess that paid off," Sherlock chuckled softly. His eyes held a faraway look, as if he was remembering something sad.

_**I remember that night and the Tennessee Waltz**_

_**Now I know just how much I have lost**_

"What happened? Did they... passed away?" John asked quietly.

"Oh, no. But I did left them years ago because I could not stand living under their control much longer," Sherlock said and then grimaced, "Mycroft keeping an eye on me is the only prove to them that I am still alive. Even so, I am free and can do whatever I want."

"But you still miss them," John asserted. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but stopped and sighed.

"Of course."

_**Yes I lost my little darlin' the night they were playin'**_

John shifted closer, reached up, and softly pecked the detective on his lips. He felt a small smile before releasing him.

_**That beautiful Tennessee Waltz**_

Sherlock leaned forward and whispered in the blogger's ear, "There was never a case."

John edged closer and replied with a smirk, "And I know how to waltz."

_**I remember that night and the Tennessee Waltz**_

With that, he took the lead and released his right grip of the detective's hand, so that he was swung to the side before pulling him back and closing his hand around Sherlock's while releasing the other grip to do the same thing.

_**Now I know just how much I have lost**_

Breaking out of their box and now gracefully waltzing around the room, they turned and spun as the room faded away and there was all, but the two holding on together as if existence was all they had left of the other.

_**Yes I lost my little darlin' the night they were playin'**_

Sherlock bent down and snogged John properly, his sharp Cupid's bow warmly pressing into the center of the blogger's lips while his lower cupped the other's, parting slightly. John let out a content sigh and ran his tongue into the detective's hot breath. And all of this was done without a single count lost.

_**That beautiful Tennessee Waltz**_

_Fin._

Here's where I got the song from if you are interested or want to try to read and listen at the same time: youtube dot com **(slash)** watch?v=_Ek3eCbfqp0


End file.
